


View from the Bottom

by auri_mynonys



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Empurata, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Rung is a dom, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Whirl is not Rung's patient, blowjob, whrung - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9634661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auri_mynonys/pseuds/auri_mynonys
Summary: There's this thing Whirl's always wanted to try... even if he doesn't have much in the way of a face left.





	

“I, uh… I have a… request.”

Rung smiles and runs warm servos over the curve of Whirl’s helm. They’ve been at this for awhile now, tangled in Whirl’s berth: going slowly, building to bolder, firmer touches. Rung doesn’t like to rush, not yet at least - not even when Whirl wants to. Rung is always patient. He never asks too much, he never laughs, he never mocks. He never _pushes._ Whirl can’t think of a word for how he feels, but it’s warm and tingly and overwhelms him whenever he looks at Rung.

Rung, who is _his,_ at least for now.

“It’s kinda stupid,” Whirl warns, “So, ya know… if you… if you think maybe…”

Rung’s smile only softens, his hands tender as he strokes downward to the cables at Whirl’s neck. “No request you make is stupid,” he said. “I’m happy to listen, and happy to oblige if I am able.”

Whirl feels that warm starburst in his spark, that bright, sharp _pang_ he can’t name, and his single eye folds into a happy crescent. “Look,” he says, the words pouring out in a rush. “I have this thing about you and my face. You sitting on it. You know? I think about it a _lot._ And I know it’s stupid, I know I don’t actually have a face, I know maybe it won’t do anything for you but do you think maybe…”

He trails off. He is blazing under his armor. He would melt out of embarrassment if he could. He’s never asked this of a partner before - what few partners he’s ever had since the empurata - and he regrets asking even now. Anyone else, they’d laugh right in his not-a-face. It’s not like he can do anything nice with his no-glossa or create any friction with his no-nose; he doesn’t even have hands to finger a valve or rub an outer node, and Primus what a glitch he is to even think -

“Hmm.” Rung tilts Whirl’s helm, wrapping each side in his small servos. “I’m concerned the fluids might damage your optic.”

Fluids? Slag, yes, _frag yes._ He’s thinking about it! He’s actually willing to try and get off right on Whirl’s -  
  
Whirl’s spike bangs against his panel before he has time to override the command to pressurize.

“It’s a hearty optic,” he says, tapping it with a claw - pretending his panel isn’t burning up, that his spike isn’t trying to get out even now. “Gotten all kinds of slag on it over the years - so much inner goo you wouldn’t - uh.” He cuts himself off. Laughs nervously. Probably shouldn’t mention all the energon he’d gotten sprayed all over himself in every kind of fight. Not here, not in his berth when all he wants is for Rung to frag him to bluescreened bliss. “Just trust me when I say it’s fine, yeah?”

“Alright.” Rung pushes himself up on one elbow joint, getting to his knees. “We’ll have to position it just right… your helm has some difficult ridges that might - ”

Whirl retracts the helm’s pointier bits before the words are even fully out of Rung’s mouth. He’s too eager, he’s always too eager, why can’t he ever stop and _think_ a klik before jumping to conclusions - but Rung only beams, unoffended. “You are full of surprises, sweetspark,” he says; and Whirl wants so desperately to say something back, something that will fill Rung with the same heat he feels just then, when the word _sweetspark_ slips off Rung’s glossa - but there’s nothing to say, and anyway Rung has already swung one leg over Whirl’s optic, straddling his not-a-face and oh, _oh_ that is _exactly_ what Whirl wanted to see, that perfect valve already lubricated and on display just for him.

What a view. What a Primus-blessed, Pit-damned view.

Whirl’s optic unspools and widens so he can drink in the sight, so close to his not-a-face. He jolts and shudders as Rung sits, aft to Whirl’s head, facing towards his feet. It’s wet and warm and slag Whirl wishes he could lick still, he aches so much for it that for an instant his processor conjures a ghost of how Rung might taste…

His panel pops open, and Rung chuckles. “I didn’t even move yet,” he says, but fondly.

“I wish you would,” Whirl growls, jerking his hips upwards. “I want you to move. You’re not gonna hurt me, Eyebrows. Cross my spark.”

Rung shivers as Whirl speaks, the vibrations from his voxcorder working some sort of magic on the smaller mech’s node - already glowing from their earlier pawing. “Oh, you like that?” Whirl says, his voice dropping lower. “Try this on for size.”

He revs his engines, and Rung _jerks_ , going taut atop Whirl’s helm. “You could keep doing that and I wouldn’t mind,” Rung pants.

Rung wants me, he wants me, he actually wants me -! Whirl twitches beneath Rung, closing claws over the littler mech’s thighs. “Yeah? You want a little more?” he says. “Why don’t you move a bit then? You gotta earn your reward, doc.”

Rung gives Whirl a tiny _smack,_ a bang on the side of his neck - a reminder that he can _ask,_ of course, but he is not _in charge_. Whirl never liked being controlled much, but it’s different here, it’s different with Rung. Rung takes care of him.

“I’m the one giving the orders here, thank you,” Rung says. How he manages to sound so prim while sitting bare-valved on Whirl’s face(ish) is a mystery for the ages. “Now, if you please - engines?”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Whirl’s willing to do just about anything just to feel Rung move, to feel the slickened mesh against what he’ll imagine is his tongue. He revs his engine loudly, and Rung’s spinal strut goes taut, his thighs clamping around Rung’s helm.

“Good?” Whirl asks. His voice catches when he speaks, a weird hiss of static he didn’t want creeping into his tone. He wants Rung’s approval, he wants it more than he can ever vocalize; this will have to do instead.

“Yes,” Rung says - and his voice is staticky too, glitching out with excitement. “Yes, Whirl, that’s very good. ”

“Yes!” Whirl revs again and then lets his engines run, ignoring a warning about his internal temperature and the potential melting of inner components. Who cares about some random fiddly bits that Ratchet will be able to fix in the blink of an optic when _this_ is the alternative?

“C’mon, Eyebrows,” Whirl whines. “You can ride me, I swear, it’s not gonna hurt me, I’m gonna love it - ”

Rung pats Whirl’s neck, a sign of his acquiescence, and exvents atop the flier, shifting to grip Whirl’s guns for leverage. His hips jerk, just once, and Whirl groans, too keyed up for how early it is, for how little he’s done. “Frag,” he hisses, feeling his spike pressurize - free now of the annoying panel that had kept it pressed back. “Frag, Rung, this is so hot…”

Rung makes a slow circle with his valve, pressing his node against the flat surface of Whirl’s optic. Whirl hears Rung’s fans kick on, and he makes a sound of triumph, tightening his grip on Rung’s legs. “You can really go,” he encourages. “Grind all over me. I want you to, I really do - please?”

Rung laughs lowly. “As you wish,” he says. His grip tightens on Whirl’s guns, and then he slides again over Whirl’s optic, faster, harder, pressing down where Whirl’s mouth might have been once. There’s a rhythm to his movements, building pace as Rung’s arousal rises. It’s entrancing, feeling it, feeling it on his face, feeling the lubricants he can only dream of tasting. Whirl doesn’t realize he’s following along with his whole damn frame until Rung clamps his legs hard around his helm, threatening to slide off.

“More engines,” Rung says.

“Primus, yes - whatever you want - ”

Whirl lets his engines run at a steady, rising pace, and Rung cries out atop him. Rung’s pulsing node presses hard against Whirl’s optic, bathed in lubricant now. It glows bluer and bluer as Rung’s arousal rises, swelling until Whirl can feel it, hard and hot against his face.

“Slag,” he snarls, arching higher off the bed. If he could just _taste -_ if he could only touch his own Pit-spawned spike -

He’s painfully aroused, but he can’t do slag about it. And Vector Sigma, is it worth it.

“I want you to overload on my face,” Whirl says, low and urgent and needy. “I wanna feel it. I wanna imagine how you’d taste lubricating all over my glossa. C’mon, sweetspark, overload for me - I want you - ”

Rung makes a plaintive sound, but even though his fans are whining, even though his node is flickering like a light show, he doesn’t let go - not yet. “Put this down,” he gasps, slapping Whirl’s cockpit just a touch too hard. Whirl jolts beneath him, a shudder running through his struts. If only Rung would hit him like that more often… “And prop your hips up.”

“Prop my - what?” Whirl slows his engines, squinting in confusion. “Why?”

“I want your hips as close to my face as you can get them,” Rung says. He raps again on the cockpit, and Whirl jerks, drops of lubricant forming at the tip of his spike. “Go on, put it down. I know you can.”

Whirl beeps loudly, fans kicking into high gear at the pronouncement. “Are - are you gonna suck my spike?”

“I will if you do as I say,” Rung retorts. He gets cold like this, sometimes, in the heat of the moment - the only time he ever does. “Well?”

Whirl makes a staticky sound of ecstasy and pins Rung to his helm, scooting across his berth to the wall. He flattens the cockpit as commanded and curves the plating at his waist until -

“Close enough?” he pants. He’s compressed and uncomfortable, but it’ll be worth it if Rung can reach. Primus, it will be _so very worth it -_

Rung presses his hands flat against Whirl’s chest and leans, answering with a slow, firm lap of his glossa against the tip of Whirl’s spike.

“ _Frag!_ ” Whirl shouts, slamming his spike forward. It smacks Rung in the face, and Rung laughs, catching it in one hand and licking harder on the second go.

“Engines?” he asks, pausing.

“Yes, yes, anything you want, anything, forever, for always, yes, yes!” Whirl is babbling, but he can’t stop, he’s too excited, his spark is nearly burning out of his chest. He wriggles and revs his engine, clutching Rung’s thighs to keep him in place, and when Rung takes his spike in his mouth and starts to grind against his optic again, Whirl thinks for a moment he’s going to die, he’s dreaming, this isn’t real, he could never be so blessed -

Rung’s mouth is so warm, his tongue is textured and it moves just right and where he can’t reach his hand curves over what’s left. He likes it, too, if the lubricant gushing from his valve is any indication - if the bright light from his node gives him away. Whirl’s fans are blowing hot air now, struggling to cool his overexcited frame, but there’s no turning back. His charge is higher than he’s ever felt it before. He knows he’s shouting, he knows he’s saying something, but he can’t even tell what he’s saying anymore. The yellow of his optic takes up the whole of what should be his face, it swallows every inch of the gorgeous view Rung’s given him. Beneath the opening charges of what will become his overload, he feels that same desperate warmth, that heat in his spark that only Rung inspires, and oh Primus, he loves Rung, he loves him he loves him he loves him -

He overloads so hard he bluescreens out, optic going staticky and blank. When he comes back online, Rung is sagging atop him, stretched flat against Whirl’s transformed cockpit. Rung’s fans making a sad, pained noise as coolant floods his overheated system. Whirl’s whine in time with Rung’s, and together they exvent and invent at intervals.

“Wow,” Whirl whispers. “ _Wow._ ”

Rung laughs, so softly, and pats Whirl’s claw - still wrapped tight around Rung’s thigh. “‘Wow’ is right,” he says. “Truly, that was a privilege. Thank you.”

“Wha - seriously, Eyebrows? I’m the one who should be thanking _you._ Doing that with a glitch like me when you get nothing out of it…”

Rung lifts himself off of Whirl’s optic and looks at the trail of lubricants with chagrin. “You may not be able to see it for all the lubricants blocking your view, Whirl, but I quite thoroughly enjoyed myself,” he says. “That said… we should probably get you cleaned up.”

Whirl’s eye makes the happy crescent that he tries to call a smile - and then it fritzes out, Whirl’s vision darkening, the room and Rung’s perfect face disappearing.

“Uh… about that…”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in this fandom about a year and I've only just now finally felt comfortable enough to write and post something! Eek! I hope it is worth the read.


End file.
